A Collection
by Liana Legaspi
Summary: A Christmas gift. / A compilation of moments based the friendship between characters. "Through the years, we all will be together, if the Fates decide..."


_**To: **_**My Dear Readers**

_**From: **_**Liana**

_**Please accept and enjoy this humble gift—**_

_**Merry Christmas.**_

_**xox**_

* * *

**Dolls and Highly Unlikely Friends**

In the span of ten minutes, she broke the heel off her pump, accidentally groped Sadie Kane's nerdy brother, tore her skirt, faceplanted while walking upstairs (_after_ breaking the heel off her pump), and smelled like disinfectant (courtesy of yours truly, Bill the janitor, who was most likely dropped on his head at birth).

But that was okay. That was pretty much every Monday morning for her, so it wasn't that big of a deal. Just the never ending cycle of agony and high school that every demigod—no, scratch that—every _teenager_ went through. Whatever, right?

Typically, she'd just brush it off, reapply her lipstick, and go about her day gossiping and ditching PE—but not today. Nope, this particular Monday, Drew Tanaka was ticked off big time.

And it was _her _fault.

Her phone vibrated against her leg, and for a second, Drew was genuinely contemplating the idea of chucking it at the whiteboard or even better, her science teacher's face. (Please, the only chemistry Drew was interested in was considered "inappropriate" and "not allowed on school grounds.")

But then again, this was her fourth phone this semester, and even with her charmspeech she kind of had trouble persuading her dad to get her a new one the last time she got angry and broke it on someone else's skull (but in her defense, she used the first one to kill a psychotic nymph so that one totally didn't count).

As if it could tellthat Drew hadn't seen her text yet, her phone vibrated again, and her resolve crumbled, curiosity peaking at what she could _possibly _want from her now. Drew's eyes didn't waver from the whiteboard as she typed in her password and opened up her messages, all the while looking completely engrossed in whatever the teacher was saying.

Only when she looked down and saw the pic did she show any indication of breaking school policies. Drew shrieked and threw the phone away from her, like the picture would come to life and walk straight through the screen.

Set in a pale, porcelain face, two emerald eyes, crafted with the utmost care and perfection, stared back at her. Long dark ringlets hung down the doll's back, and its rosebud mouth curved into a delicate smile.

Maybe it was a little pathetic to be afraid of dolls when she knew monsters were actually real and could maul her _and_ her face to the point of no return in thirty seconds flat, but that was how it was. That was Drew's most—well, _one _of her deepest secrets. The only people who knew about her phobia were her dad, when he got her one for her birthday, and Lacy, when she brought her American Girl Doll to Camp one summer and Drew panicked and _almost_ threw into the brazen alter during dinner.

Drew balled her hands into fists. How—in all things pink—did _she_ find out about her little…"issue"?

Drew still didn't know how the little virgin punk got her number, but when she did find out (gods have mercy), there would be blood and tears and not necessarily hers.

"Miss Tanaka," a cool, smooth voice clipped, "since you are obviously so enthused, would you please explain the reaction between potassium chromate and sulfuric acid?"

Drew clenched her teeth. She _really_ liked Thalia Grace better when she was a pine tree.

···

Drew wasn't an idiot or out of touch with all the juicy gossip.

She knew Butch had a thing for this Demeter chick. She knew at one point, the Stoll brothers both liked Katie Gardner. She knew that Malcolm used to have a thing for Silena. She knew Nick from the Apollo cabin was stringing along Lou Ellen. (And if you ask her, not a smart idea on Nick's part. Never ever try to play with a child of Hecate's heart—Drew spoke from experience).

Drew knew a lot of things. Hades, she was the absolute _center_ of all things that had to do with sparkles and rumors. In fact, if there was a kingdom for gossipers, Drew Tanaka would be their queen—no, _king_; because that was just how she rolled.

So, keeping that in mind, she _obviously_ knew Thalia and Luke used to be friends and on the run (from either monsters or angry gods, take your pick). She so clearly knew that—oh yeah—they had a _thing._

What she didn't know, however, is that while they were running around the country fighting for their pathetic demigod lives, Luke taught Thalia a couple of Hermes's tricks. Not just pickpocketing and lock-picking either, no—he taught her how to hack into anything and everything.

That included her Facebook account.

Was Drew cruel? Yes. Was she untrustworthy? With your personal life and darkest secrets—oh yeah. But she wasn't a psycho. And looking through some statuses that she did _not_ post, that was kind of what she looked like.

Antique dolls, ragdolls, china dolls, cheap baby dolls—that was what her Facebook page had become, and she had a pretty good feeling about whose fault it was.

Now, after weeks of not being able to log on (due to homework, working at H&M, being grounded, and oh yeah, Sadie spilling her _juice box_ on her laptop), Drew stared at her screen, face blank. Everyone—campers and classmates and childhood friends, even her _dad_—had unfriended her.

All except one. She narrowed her eyes.

_Thalia Grace is online_.

Freaking Hades.

one of her better ideas or, you know, days. played Capture the Flag.

nd no one was sure they' pieces of popcorn floating aroun

···

It wasn't until next week she decided Thalia was a stalker.

Sure, discovering one of her greatest fears and sending her a _picture_ of it was pretty low and…yeah, creepy (who the Hades does that?), but this—oh no. This was completely unacceptable.

Thalia Grace had been to her school.

Thalia Grace had been to her locker.

Thalia Grace had driven an arrow through a Barbie doll's head and put it _in_ her locker.

Thalia Grace had carved the oh-so-eloquent words _Death to Barbie_ into said locker.

How had Drew come to this many conclusions? Because she found the initials: T.G. scrawled beneath her cute little message.

Drew growled in frustration and pulled the Barbie out of her locker warily. Its smile stretched across its face so perfectly it was almost grotesque, its hair was straightened to perfection that even Drew was a little jealous, and its blue eyes shown because the stupid makers stuck real glitter into its eyes as if it'd make it any less creepy.

Drew held the doll away from her carefully, like she was expecting it to start a count-down to explode or something (and for all she knew, it could—and would). She tried to tell herself she only thought that because it was _Thalia_ who handled the stupid thing, but nope. Nah, she was still just terrified of dolls.

The only reason she was even vaguely okay with touching the thing was because of a miniature arrow sticking through its head like someone shot it through the ear. Odd. Drew frowned a bit and squinted at the Hunter's message again. _Death to Barbie_.

Between her books, Drew could see something black peeking out. She wrinkled her brows and, putting the Barbie down for a second, she tugged the object out from behind her American Lit, mouth making a little _o_ shape when she realized what it was.

The shirt was fitted and low cut like someone got sick of the high collar and just ripped it. A classic blond Barbie was pasted on the front with a shocked face and an arrow poking through its head—surprisingly identical to the one Thalia made. Beneath the picture were the words "DEATH TO BARBIE" in big pink font.

A yellow sticky note fell hung off one of the sleeves, and Drew plucked it off, struggling to make out Thalia's messy scrawl.

_See?_ it said. _Dolls aren't so bad._

For a minute or two, Drew stood there, thinking, before hesitantly pulling it over her head. It smelled like nature and sweat and pinecones (she made a mental note to tell Percy about that later), and she couldn't help but wrinkle her nose. Trust Thalia to be able to find internet in the middle of nowhere but not a bath.

Still, as she reread the daughter of Zeus's note, she couldn't help the little smirk that spread a across her face. Maybe—just maybe, Thalia Grace wasn't so annoying.

* * *

**Fifth-Grade Crush**

Percy would have been completely happy going through without knowing who Thalia's and Jason's mom was.

In fact, he would've been completely happy without a lot of things happening to him, but let's face it, Percy just had really bad luck. As in, "he somehow managed to tick off the Fates while he was still in the womb, so they all decided to make his life a living Hades for kicks" kind of luck. Over the top? Yeah, kind of. But accurate? It's plausible. Very plausible.

Because only the worst luck of all time could possibly land him in the most awkward situation of all time, and that was including the one time he tried to propose to one of his classmates in kindergarten and it turned out "Lexy" was actually just a nickname for "Lex" and yeah, Lex was a dude. Granted, either way it would've been really awkward, but the whole gender mix up made it that much worse.

In his defense though, Percy was, like, ten at the time. At that age, practically every girl was pretty in his eyes, so of _course_ that blond, poofy-haired actress in the little black dress was beautiful. Age didn't completely register to him—the lady was a showstopper. (Although, now that he knew better, she couldn't _really_ be considered a lady.)

At the time, all Percy saw were big blue eyes, perfect teeth, and a smile that you would not believe, and his little preadolescent mind was so stunned and enchanted that he'd even go so far as to say she was the most gorgeous girl on the planet (except for his mother of course, but that was different).

Hades, when he saw Aphrodite for the first time, the she even _looked_ like the actress for a couple seconds.

But despite all his awe, Percy never got a name to go with the face. Grace, Gracie—he really wasn't sure, all he knew was that when he was a kid, he had a crush on a lady more than twice his age, and to be honest, he didn't really care to know who she was anymore.

Obviously, the Fates didn't get the memo.

When Thalia, Jason, and Percy passed by an upscale TV department on their way to get cheeseburgers, he saw her again. The video quality was a little poor 'cause it was taken a while ago, but the leading lady—that was the actress, no doubt about it.

Percy's jaw dropped. "That's her!" he blurted.

Beside him, Thalia's breath hitched and Jason frowned, squinting at the TVs.

"Who?" he asked.

"This one actress I had a crush on when I was a kid." He paused, staring at her. Same hair, same smile, same eyes, but now, he realized, looking a little closer, something felt almost…familiar about her. And it wasn't just 'cause he spent hours obsessing her face (not that he did that).

Percy half-laughed, not noticing the way Thalia blanched or how Jason's eyebrows shot up all the way to his hairline. "Man, when I met Aphrodite, she kind of looked like her. I remember this one time—"

Thalia's face was red. "That was our-our _mom_."

She had trouble getting that last word out of her mouth like she tasted something sour, but she'd managed. And it was somewhere around that time when Percy's mind shut down completely.

_Say what now?_

The Graces stared at him; Jason stunned and Thalia looking like she was just _barely _keeping herself from retching (not that he completely blamed her; after all, if Jason suddenly came out and said he thought her mom was hot, he'd have some issues with that too).

Percy's eyes widened in realization, but it was too late to take it back. And seriously, how the Hades are you supposed to recover from something like that? (Stupid Fates.)

"Wait," he started, trying to backtrack, "I was wrong—it was a different actre—"

Thalia groaned and held up her hand. "Ugh, just-just forget it," she said, shaking her head and walking off.

Jason frowned. "Where're you going?" He chucked a thumb over his shoulder. "Thalia, Culver's is that way."

Thalia didn't stop walking. "Not hungry," she called, casting an accusing glance over her shoulder, "Percy ruined my appetite."

Percy's cringed and glanced back at the TV and Mrs. Grace's smiling face before trudging after his cousin. Pretty? Oh yes, but _so_ not worth a cheeseburger.

* * *

**3. Holding Your Bloody Peace Even if You Don't Feel Like It**

In her defense, Ruby Kane had no idea things would happen the way they did.

If she had, she might've kept her bloody piehole shut for a change, but she didn't. And that's how she wound up here in a musky, dark church that looked more like a funeral home than anything else with her best friend's son in her lap, a priest, and a groom that hadn't even bothered changing out of his ketchup stained T-shirt. (Bloody Americans.)

Ruby huffed a little, shifting the little boy in her lap to a more comfortable position. She could get why her friend would want to get hitched. For one, she was the romantic, sentimental, family type of person, and two, out of everyone in the entire world—magicians, mortals, and gods included—Sally Jackson was probably the one person who truly deserved to be happy. Not to mention, it couldn't be easy raising a son all alone.

Ruby understood where her friend was coming from, really she did. Just…

She gave Gabe a longsided glance.

Well, to put it bluntly, she'd thought Sally would have better taste than that. When they were in high school, Sally usually had a pretty good batch of boyfriends, all smart and polite and a little shy. So what the bloody hell was she doing with _that_ bloke.

Ruby was fully aware Sally never cared much for looks, but come on, this was pushing it. He had a whopping total of three hairs on his head, he constantly belched and passed gas, and he had a striking resemblance to a pregnant walrus. And as if his appearance wasn't a turn off already, he was about as charming as a slug, had an IQ lower than an owl, and smelled worse than a New York sewer. But when Ruby mentioned this little fact to Sally, it didn't seem to deter her. If anything, it made her even more determined to pursue him.

Yes, _she_ pursued _him_ (or, more accurately, _it_.) Full arsenal too—Sally dropped by his place to di his laundry, she made him all the bean dip his chubby tummy could want, she never yelled, never lost her patience, never gagged (by which Ruby was tremendously impressed). She didn't even bat an eye when he finally proposed to her by using a cheap, plastic ring he probably got out of a cereal box.

Ruby pursed her lips. Gabe Ugliano (oh gods, even his bloody _name_ was awful) must have done something ridiculously wonderful sometime in his unproductive, disgusting life if he was marrying one of the kindest souls she'd ever met. Not to mention, a son.

Ruby frowned and ran her fingers through Percy's dark hair. That was another thing she didn't get. Sally wasn't an idiot (despite recent developments). She knew Gabe was no good, both as a husband and a father, and Ruby knew full well that Sally Jackson would never _ever_ do anything drastic that could, quite possibly, ruin Percy's childhood. But here she was. In a tiny church waiting for the ceremony to begin.

And it was all her fault for drawing Sally's attention to him in the first place.

_So maybe Ruby was a little tipsy. So maybe she was a lightweight. So maybe she knew better than to drink 'cause her magic tended to go a little haywire, and the last time she got drunk (her wedding, which Amos never let her live down), she turned into an ibis and flew circles around her husband. _

_But hey, Julius and Carter were watching some Pixar movie, and it was the first time in ages Ruby had a girls' night out. So yeah. She had a few drinks. Shoot her._

_Ruby giggled into her hand, reminiscing somewhat incoherently about that one fall formal where someone spiked the punch, and on a completely unrelated note, Sally got a little carried away on the dance floor._

_Across from her, Sally rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but Ruby could tell she was trying not to smile._

_Ruby snorted into her palm, wiping a tear from her eye. "You're so bad at twerking…"_

_Sally flushed. "Okay, I think you've had enough," she said, managing to snatch Ruby's glass before she could take another sip. She motioned to one of the waiters. "Check?"_

_Ruby groaned and slumped in her chair, dropping her head against the table with a thud. "You're not a fun person anymore. You know that?"_

_After tipping their waiter, Sally stood up and helped Ruby to her feet, allowing the blond to lean on her even though she was giggling in her ear and poking her in the ribs. Ah, Sally. Ever so patient. The diner seemed to spin, colors blurring to together just a tad, and Ruby hummed._

"_This is nice," she said. "You, me, having a girls' night out. We should do this again."_

_Sally smiled at her, but Ruby could tell she wasn't so sure._

"_Aw, don't worry," the blond patted her cheek. "I'll lay off on the drinking next time—I swear."_

"_As lovely as that'd be," Sally started wryly, "that's not it." She bit back a curse when Ruby stumbled, almost bringing both of them down. A few looks were sent there way, and the brunette blushed, smiling apologetically._

"_It-It's my son," she admitted when they righted themselves. "Percy."_

_Ruby's head perked up. "Oh? Do tell. Is he one of those troublemakers?"_

"_No," Sally said, a defense edge creeping into his voice. "He's not. He's just, uh…he's a bit of a magnet for trouble." Her voice dropped. "Especially now that he's getting older, they've been…"_

"_They? They-who?" Ruby prompted._

_Her friend smiled a little tightly, and even in the state she was in, Ruby thought Sally Jackson had never looked older. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, all through dinner, her fingers had been trembling with some sort of nervousness, and there was a tired, world-wariness in her blue orbs Ruby had never seen before._

"_No one," Sally said finally. "No one."_

_A frown tugged at Ruby's lips, and her face grew serious. "You know, if there's anything, anything at all that's bothering you or-or if you just need to talk, I'm here. Well, maybe not here _here_, but you get the gist. Just give me a ring, and I'll—bloody hell." She nudged Sally, not-so-subtly pointing to her right. "Check it."_

_And that is exactly where it all went to hell and the very fabric of time and space exploded in Ruby's face. It was when Sally Jackson saw Gabe Ugliano, one of the ugliest, biggest men Ruby had ever seen, walk past them, stained shirt and all. _

_Ruby almost vomited._

_He smelled like week-old fast food, dirty gym socks, and some brand of cheap cologne he probably shoplifted from the Dollar Store—all at once (which, if Ruby's olfactory perception wasn't screaming in agony, would've been pretty impressive to say the least.) Gabe's scent invaded her nose and lingered, and it was so ridiculous nauseating and strong, she wouldn't have been all that shocked if she woke up the next morning and could still smell him._

_While Ruby gagged on the smell and wrinkled her, trying to get both his face and oh-so pleasantly unique aroma out of her mind, she felt Sally's shoulder's straighten beneath her arm. Her friend's blue eyes were bright and shocked, her mouth was open, and she stood so still that for a second, Ruby was afraid that she'd gone into shock (not that she could really blame her for that because, gods, that man was repulsive._

_But then, Sally exhaled, eyes wide like she'd just received a personal pardon from God. "He's perfect," she breathed._

_Ruby choked on her own spit._

The blond watched Sally, an almost pained expression on her face as she said her vows. Gods, what was she doing? What was she doing, what she doing, _what—was—she—doing_? Out of all the men in the world, why the bloody hell would she choose to marry some crossbred walrus?

Ruby was so caught up in thought, she almost didn't realize Percy's little hand shoot up when the priest said: Speak now or forever hold your peace.

After a couple seconds of feeling immense pride over the little boy and a little more than irk towards Sally (because hey, if her four year old son was a better judge of character than her, _something_ was definitely wrong there), Ruby gently pulled his hand back down and hushed him.

Percy pouted at her, big eyes clearly saying, _What? I can't speak for you, but I definitely have a problem with this marriage_.

Ruby smirked a little, ruffling his hair before sitting back and watching the bride intently. No, she thought to herself, narrowing her eyes, Sally would never ever do something without reason. And, Ruby added, grimacing at the fat rolls of Gabe's neck, it must've been a pretty bloody important reason for her to go to such drastic measures.

Ruby's lips thinned. She might not like it. She might hate this couple more than words could ever fathom (hell, she shipped them on the Titanic), but she knew Sally Jackson and honestly? The best thing to do for now was to step back and just let her take care of herself.

Ruby's eyes glittered. Besides, if Sally ever needed her, if she ever regretted marrying Gabe (which Ruby was pretty certain she would), she would be right there for her. Forever and always, no matter what because _that_ is what friends are for.

(She died a few years later of course, leaving behind a husband and two children with a guardian cat-goddess, but that was all right. Because even then, Ruby still kept an eye on her friend.

Forever and always.)

* * *

**4. Zeus Could Be Such a Bully Sometimes**

Crying was reserved only for wimps and girls, but in all honesty, Percy was having a little trouble keeping himself from doing just that.

But what could he say? He was completely and utterly terrified to the point where he just caved in and buried himself in his closet. Yeah, the dirty socks from, like, eight months ago smelled pretty revolting and there was a baby spider in the corner, but as far as he was concerned, it was safe. (Kind of.)

Outside, the thunderstorm raged on, and Percy couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut, clamping his little hands over his ears. It did absolutely nothing to block out all the noise.

Some adults called it a phobia. Gabe called it being a crybaby (Percy couldn't argue with that one). And his teachers called it a nuisance…. Along with his dyslexia and ADHD and his "inability to follow the rules" or whatever. (In his defense, they didn't say he _couldn't_ run off school property.)

Another crack of lightning and Percy curled into himself even more. He could still see flashes of light through from underneath the doors, and it made his skin prickle and air stand on end.

_Stop, _he thought, gritting his teeth, a couple more traitorous tears leaking down his face. _Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop—_

The closet doors swung wide open just in sync with the thunder, and Percy jerked back so hard he cracked his head against the wall. Quickly, his mom knelt in front of him, wrapping him in her arms and rocking him back and forth, hushing him and running her fingers through his hair in a soothing motion.

She pressed her lips against his forehead. "Its okay, Percy," she mumbled. "It's all right, its fine—just calm down. I've got you. I'm here now."

Without even hesitating, Percy hugged her, burying his face into her shoulder. Some called it a phobia. Others called it a nuisance. But his mom? She didn't mind it one bit. Every time there was a storm, she always hurried to find him, no matter where he was. She'd drop everything she was doing just to comfort him. Just to make sure her baby boy was okay.

She never judged him, never complained, only smothered him with kisses and wiped his tears and held him tight.

And Percy's opinion, it was worth all the thunderstorms in the world.

* * *

**The Company You Find In An Elevator**

Frank was a hundred percent unamused.

His back hurt, his calf was cramping, blood was _gushing_ out of his nose, and he was completely unable to deal with this kind of crap right now.

He wasn't quite sure who to blame. The people who installed the darn thing or just the Fates—either way, it probably wouldn't make much of a difference 'cause it seemed like no matter how he looked at it, he was stuck in an elevator. With three other teenagers—Matt, Nancy, Zia, and Carter—two of which looked like they belonged in juvie for shoplifting or destruction of private property.

Nancy and Matt—they absolutely hated each other's guts. Which was sort of a shame 'cause they would've made a perfect match. Obnoxious, rude, irritating, in need of dental floss, now Frank wasn't an expert on love or anything, but those two were _made_ for each other.

Zia wasn't so bad. Actually she was kind of cool. Out of all of them, she was probably the most calm and collected about the whole thing. Granted, it looked like she was losing her patience with Nancy's screaming for help and Matt's flirting, but hey—at least she hadn't killed anyone yet. She sort of reminded him of Reyna in that sense.

The Carter kid looked like he would be one of those snobby, preppy boys you'd find in some private school, but he wasn't so bad either. In fact, he was pretty much in the same boat as him: nursing a headache and praying for it all to be over.

By the doors, Nancy had completely given up on making any effort to call for help, choosing instead to just scream until her lungs gave out or they ran out of air—whichever came first.

Frank groaned, sliding down to the floor. This was seriously not how he'd envisioned his weekend. His to-do list was simple: go the mall, pick up the guys' tuxes for this "Camp Formal" thing the Aphrodite girls were putting on, maybe grab a bite to eat, get out, head back home.

Pretty straight forward, but still, _somehow_ everything managed to go so wrong to the point where he was trapped in a small, enclosed space with what had to be the two most annoying mortals on the face of the earth. Brilliant.

For the first couple minutes it wasn't so bad. Nancy was only mildly panicking, and Matt was only mildly irritating. But it slowly progressed to the point where Frank wanted out, _and he wanted out now_.

For a second, Frank even thought about just forming into an elephant and getting out of there, but he wasn't sure how the Mist would interpret it, and Reyna would be pretty angry at him if he blew the whole "demigods aren't real" thing, so he had to nix the idea.

Carter plunked down beside him, sighing tiredly. "This bites," he muttered.

Frank gave him a sympathetic smile. "Tell me about," he said, pulling out his phone.

Originally, he'd decided against calling or texting anybody 'cause the last thing he needed was some monster popping out of nowhere and freaking out four, trapped teenagers that just had bad luck, but now…well, there was always therapy for these kinds of things.

He quickly skimmed through his contacts (a whopping total of four) before picking out Percy. Thumbs awkwardly gliding over the tiny keyboard, he wrote, _hey. stuck in elevator. come save me?_

Carter glanced over his shoulder. "Who're you texting?"

The corner of Frank's mouth quirked up. "The cavalry."

The other boy leaned his head back, letting his eyes shut. "Thank gods," he muttered.

"Yeah," Frank said, still stumbling over his text. "I mean, he's probably not going to be able to get us out by himself, but my friend Leo—don't tell him I said this, but he's a genius with these kinds of things, but for some reason he doesn't have a phone. So texting Percy's the next best thing—wait, did you just say gods? Like, plural?"

Carter's eyes immediately snapped open, and from the other side of the elevator, Zia stiffened a little. And, if it weren't for the Frank's _blossoming _headache, that would've rang some warning bells in his head, but it didn't.

He laughed a little nervously. "What? Naw, I just, uh, have a lisp."

Frank furrowed his brows. "But there's no _s _in—"

"Hey!" he said, grabbing the phone out of his hands as soon as it buzzed. "I think that Percy guy ans—"

Carter froze, eyes glued to the screen, staring directly at contact name. _Percy Jackson (583-5911)._ His face suddenly paled, and he looked like he was going to be sick, which was really, really not good given the circumstances.

Frank gently nudged his shoulder. "Hey," he started, frowning. "You okay?"

After a stretched moment of silence, Carter nodded and handed him back the phone, hands a little sweaty. "Yeah," he said, a bit too forced. "Yeah, I'm…great." He turned his head so he was facing away from Frank, muttering something that sounded like, "Cavalry. Yeah…."

(If Percy and Carter both blanched a little when they saw each other, Frank decided not to comment.)

**!**

**He Never Forgets Names, Just Mixes Them Up**

Dionysus might get hangovers that could potentially last a little more than a century.

He might be a little neurotic during said times and just a tad grouchy (to the point where even Hestia regretted giving up her throne for him) and kind of stuck up and he may or may have not been the one to spill the whole _Aphrodite's cheating on you_ thing to Hephaestus, but the one thing that didn't change, was that no matter what, Dionysus was _amazing_ with names.

Even the really weird ones like Achilles—he didn't know what his mother was on to think that it was a _good_ idea to name her baby something that sounded like _I kill-y_, but no matter. That name was carved into his memory anyhow.

Same with Theseus, Daedalus, George Washington, Michael Jackson, Francis Drake….

Peter Johnson.

Now _he_ was one of those people, Dionysus wished he could forget via getting hammered, but he really didn't want to anger Zeus by breaking his prohibition, so yeah, that was out of the question.

Peter Johnson was one of the most arrogant mortals Dionysus had ever met. He smirked, god or not—he could and would talk back, and he never knew when to quit. Granted, he had his Annie Bell to rein him in, but still, Peter really pushed his limits.

And of course, he was clear-sighted so that just made him all the more irritating, and if he hadn't known it would upset the Fates, Dionsysus would've crushed the puny mortal to a pulp long, long ago (besides, if the mortal's bad luck was anything to go by, the Fates didn't like him all that much either).

In fact, the only people who seemed to be vaguely okay with him were Poseidon, Hermes, Apollo, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, and Hestia—everyone else either didn't care or just _tried_ not to send him on the quick trip down to Hades. Sure, the mortals were kind of fond of him and all, but they wouldn't miss a loudmouth, would they? (The wine god had to shrug at that because at this point, the humans were just odd.)

Dionysus bore with him, sort of. At least, he didn't _actively_ try to kill him, so that had to count for something. Peter was like a splinter in his forehead. Dionysus had lost track of just how many times he'd accidentally ran into the boy, but each time, Peter had managed to strike a chord.

"My great and most noble Lord Dionysus, you smell putrid."

"Nice paunch you got going there."

"Why are you even down here?"

"You're not cheating on Ariadne, are you?"

"'Cause that's pretty low since you made her your eternal wife and all. Yeesh, I never realized just how creepy that is. It's like a sentence to the Fields of Punishent but, like, Olympus style."

Did Dionysus hate him? Oh yes, very much. He liked to keep his children as far away from him as possible. Went to great lengths to shield them from the disrespectful horror that was Peter Johnson.

He could him out. After all, which one of them was immortal? Nah, he'd just wait it out. Peter might've been annoying as a gnat, but he was still mortal. His time would come, and it would come quickly because human lives were so, so laughably short. And when Peter's time came, Dionysus would be rejoicing, and it'd be Hades's turn to bang his head against the wall.

Only, when Peter's time did come, Dionysus wasn't dancing or laughing or rejoicing—not even drinking. Peter Johnson died much sooner than he had expected. If under other circumstances, he might've been relieved, but this…

No, Peter's death was like a sharp blow to the gut rather than a reprieve.

Dionysus didn't get the entire story. The only witness was Annie Bell and the poor girl was crying too much to form an entire sentence, much less speak coherently. But he got enough. A hellhound, Peter Johnson—Dionysus's gut churned—one of _his_ own children.

Peter had sacrificed himself in order to save, what had he called it? _One of Dionysus's brood._

He cut his life short for a demigod he hadn't even known all that well—probably not at all. Peter hadn't owed him any favors, Hades, Peter didn't even _like_ him, but he saved his son anyways.

For the longest time, Dionysus stood still, trying to filter through any conversations he might've had with the boy could possibly cause his to do this, trying to understand.

But he couldn't.

And every time he thought of Peter Johnson, he'd always think back to the day he found him dead on the ground, half-eaten, lover at his side, and eyes staring blankly up into the sky without a hint of the wit and stubbornness that used to glint in those orbs. And then, he'd think, _Perhaps, humans are not so horrible after all_.

(And when he'd see a young boy, sea green eyes and raven black hair standing in front of him, insulting and impudent as ever, Dionysus would ignore all corrections and all protests and say, "Peter Johnson.")

* * *

**Sisters  
**

Their relationship was one of those things you never really realized. (Which was completely understandable 'cause, you know, family trees were pretty messy. After all, Zeus married his sister, Persephone got the Stockholm syndrome for her uncle, and Hermes…well, he sired a goat.)

But yeah, they were related. Sisters, actually. Granted, they were half-sisters, but nowadays what siblings _really _shared the same parents anymore? Besides, Calypso and Zoe were close enough to be full-blooded sisters.

Definitely close.

Sure, they were different. Calypso was kind and beautiful and bold, faithful to her family and Atlas's favored one—the jewel of Othrys, and Zoe was meek, timid and known only for being one of many Hesperids. But it hardly made a difference.

They were glued at the hip. Zoe confided in her sister for everything, and Calypso loved her sister through and through. They knew each other better than they knew themselves, and nothing—no Titan or Fate or mere mortal—could possibly tear them apart.

Or at least, that's what they thought.

It's funny, how war worked. It changed both of them, made a wedge between them. It made Zoe hesitate, got her to think in a way she never had before, and—deep, deep down, she questioned her family and whether they _deserved _the right to rule.

Calypso thought differently. While Zoe grew apart, her devotion toward their father and family grew and solidified to the point where, if Zoe were to disagree with their intentions, Calypso would become defensive and (if she were being honest) borderline hostile.

_Zoe gritted her teeth in frustration. "But how do you know?" she demanded. "How can you be so sure that our uncle—that Kronos even deserves his throne?"_

"_Hold your tongue," Calypso said, voice icy and eyes hard as stone. "You know not of what you speak, sister."_

"_And you do?" Zoe scoffed, bitter. "You speak of family and loyalty, but what of that do the Titans hold? Tell me—sister, while we were placed on pedestals, worshipped far and wide, the world at our fingertips, where were Hestia, Hades, and Poseidon? Demeter, Hera?" She smiled humorlessly. "Suffering inside their own father's—"_

_The crack of flesh meeting flesh silenced both of them, and Zoe was left cradling her cheek, eyes narrowed as she watched her sister's fading form._

_Calypso fixed her with her own glare, and her fading words, haunted Zoe for centuries to come. "You are no sister of mine, Zoe Nightshade."_

They never saw much of each other from that point on. Never talked, never sought the other out.

The next time they came face to face, it was on the battlefield. Hazel eyes met black, and for once, there was no love in either gaze—and it was the very last thing they saw of each other. Many decades later, Zoe would fall in love with a demigod, run away with a band of Hunters, and become the lieutenant of the maiden goddess.

All the while, Calypso would be on the same island, secluded from the world, hidden from society. And kept under lock and key, all the while bitterness and heartache and betrayal boiling and festering inside her.

But they were sisters. Now and 'til forevermore.

(Not even her anger shielded Calypso's shattering heart when she looked up one night and saw a new constellation.)

* * *

**Pep Talk via Megaphone**

Being dragged across the country by a psychotic gym teacher with goat legs wasn't something Clarisse dreamed of when she was a little girl.

But then again, neither was being a "half-god" or whatever Hedge called it, so she was 0 for 2 here. Clarisse plunked onto the ground. She wasn't going to complain out loud or anything and sound like a complete wuss—not in front of her PE teacher—but she was sore. Like, _really_ sore.

And her head throbbed from where Hedge literally hoof-kicked "accidentally." And her knees hurt from when she kept tripping over tree roots. And she was so hungry, it felt like her stomach was just going to curl around and swallow itself. Overall, she wasn't a happy camper.

In fact, she was pretty ticked off, and someone—or something, she thought, eyeing Hedge's goat legs—was so going to pay for it.

A sharp pain spiked in her temple, and Clarisse fought the urge to wince.

"You okay, cupcake?"

"Peachy," she growled, rubbing her head.

Hedge grunted, nodding his head at her before rummaging through his pack. His furry legs were matted with burrs, and he was still clutching his baseball bat like he was ready for another fight—overall, he looked the perfect picture of dodgeball gone wrong.

She watched him through narrowed eyes. "I still don't believe you," she said, a little loudly.

Coach turned to her, and for a second, she thought he looked mad. But then he shrugged his shoulders. "Not my problem, kid."

She gritted her teeth. "There's no such thing as Olympians—they're just a bunch of fairytales made for geeks. I don't know where you're taking me or why, but if you don't take me home now, I'm going to kick you so hard in your furry, little goat butt your grandkid's are going to feel it."

No reaction.

Clarisse punched the ground. "I said—"

"Oh, I know what you said, cupcake," Hedge said, fixing her with a look she couldn't read, "and—now, I'm not one for girly moments or chick-flicks, you'll have to go to Grover if you want that, but—I'm just going to say: I get it."

Her guard instantly went up and her gaze darkened. "Get what?" she bit out.

"How you feel," he grumbled. "Feels funny to you, huh? Like some big, messed up joke and you're stuck at the very center. I'm not going to lie to you, a half-blood's life _is_ just that. And it sucks. A lot."

Clarisse glowered. "Screw you."

But for his part, Hedge ignored her. "And from here on out, your life is probably never going to get better. You'll make friends, they're going to die because either they're wimps or just unlucky. You're going to get dumped in a war way bigger than you, and you're going to be at the very front lines with nowhere to go—but I've got a feeling you'll be fine."

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she just grunted, crossing her arms and sinking a little lower into the ground.

"And if not—well…" Hedge trailed off before shaking his head. "Well, maybe a little emotionally scarred but just don't be like one of those weak, little Aphrodite girls, and I think you'll recover."

"And if not?" It was meant to sound confident and challenging, but somehow it came out wary.

Hedge seemed to think about it, finally finding what he was looking for—a canteen. He unscrewed it slowly, ears perked up.

"Well, you've got me at least. Protectors are protectors forever. You're stuck with me now." He smirked. "And sorry to disappoint, but I ain't dying anytime soon, kid."

And—oddly enough—Clarisse found that she didn't completely mind (much).

Coach tossed her the canteen, and she caught it nimbly. "Now chug up, cupcake. We not getting anywhere with you whining about your head like a baby."

…On second thought, being stuck with him sucked.

(At least, that's what she told herself.)

* * *

**The Language Barriers Aboard the **_**Argo II**_

Jason felt so left out, it wasn't even funny anymore.

Yeah, sure, for the first couple of days it was "cute" but now it was seriously getting out of hand. Pluto, no one was even really talking to each other, at least, in a language everyone could understand.

Granted, Jason probably should've known better than to bring it up. But hey, he was kind of curious, and at the time it seemed pretty harmless, you know, just a "what's your favorite color" kind of question. Well, he got his answer.

Not including Latin or Greek, everyone else onboard was bilingual.

Turned out, Leo could speak Spanish. Hazel and Piper both spoke French. Frank knew Chinese; Nico, Italian. And Annabeth, well, ironically she didn't have a second language, but Jason hardly understood half the things she said anyway. Percy had Atlantian hardwired into his brain, but if not that, then he and Annabeth had some sort of freaky telepathy going on or something. And good old Jason knew absolutely nothing other than the standard Latin.

Everyone started treating their second language like some kind of blanket of protection from there on out.

Leo had occasional rants in Spanish about things (or people, could be people) he didn't want anyone else to hear about. The girls had secret conversations in French (which, judging by the way the rolled their eyes and laughed and snuck little glances at either him or Frank, it wasn't anything good). Frank would mutter to himself in Chinese, but Jason just assumed he was swearing because it felt like he was using the same words over and over again.

Every now and then, Percy would give Jason this sly, mischievous grin and ask him something in Atlantian. And Nico, whenever he got flustered or angry or worried, would start saying something in English but then drift into Italian about every other sentence.

And Jason was cool with this. Really. Just…still, confusing. And okay, yeah, being bilingual was starting to seem kind of cool. Not to mention useful.

Surprisingly, it was Nico who made the first move. It was a sunny day, Jason was sweating buckets, Percy was sitting on the railing, Annabeth was muttering to herself, marking down things in her books, Piper and Hazel were chatting (Jason rolled his eyes when he realized it was in French), and Frank was on lookout.

Nico practically appeared out of nowhere. So quiet, Jason hadn't even noticed him.

"I _could_ teach you, you know," he said leaning casually against the railing, while Jason started. Nico tilted his head to the side. "Italian, I mean."

When Jason didn't respond, Nico flushed a little, almost shrinking back into himself. "Yeah, sorry—lame, I know."

"No, actually," Jason started, sitting up. "That'd be kind of cool."

Nico smiled, and for a minute, Jason thought, maybe language barriers aren't so bad after all.

* * *

**One Maiden Cousin and One Queer**

In general, Percy loved his cousins—a lot.

Mostly because it was a little hard to hate people who've saved you more times than you'd want to admit and yeah, despite their overwhelming array of personal issues and demons and the whole "lone half-blood" shtick they had going for them, they _were_ kind of his cousins. In a "hey, look—all of our dads cheated on their respective wives, and now we're here!" sort of way.

But there were times when they seriously made his head spin. Take Thalia for example. To be completely honest, he'd thought that as soon as the war was over, she'd give up the Hunter shtick. That was kind of the whole point wasn't it? To just, you know, stall the apocalypse for as long as possible?

(Granted, it only worked for, like, a few years but still, better later than sooner.)

But when he asked her about it, she just kind of laughed in his face and called him a Kelp Head. Nope, Thalia was dead-set about being an eternal maiden, and Percy thought, okay, sure. There really was no controlling her anyways, she could declare war on Olympus and he wouldn't even be surprised.

And then there was that whole thing with Nico—now that kid didn't even tell him that he was queer or anything. No, _hey, by the way_—nothing. Nah, he just let Percy find out via text.

_Thalia: lady artemis and i were hunting, and we caught nico kissing a boy in the woods. she's ticked—get over here._

_Percy: lol i love autocorrect._

_Thalia: that wasn't autocorrect._

…

_Percy: well, well, well._

And to top it all off, there was that fight after Capture the Flag, Nico luring him into a trap, Nico _not_ telling him who he was, and overall, both of them being royal pains.

Don't get him wrong, even through all of it, Percy loved his cousins (or, at least he was trying), but sometimes, it was really hard to keep up with them and even worse, knowing what was going on in their heads.

And Poseidon was supposed to be the unpredictable one.

* * *

**Movie Night**

It was one of those things that sounded _way _better in their heads than it was actually going through with it. Sort of like shoplifting.

Looking back on, none of them could really remember who suggested it in the first place. And no one would fess up to it anyways 'cause for, like, two-thirds of the movie everyone was crammed onto one couch, with one bowl of popcorn, and Jason spent the whole time unintentionally invading Hazel's personal space while Leo was forced to get intimate with the son of Poseidon's sea-scented armpit (Percy still refused to pay for Leo's therapy by the way).

Granted, it was kind of supposed to be a small group—just the Seven actually, you know, just a night to unwind and maybe have a few laughs, Leo even said something about sneaking some of Mr. D's wine. But then Nico walked in. Or more accurately, out of Percy's closet, pale and gaunt and winded, saying something about needing a place to crash, and none of them really had the heart to kick him out, so they let him stay. The more the merrier, right?

And then, like, two minutes later, Thalia breezed in, covered head-to-toe in monster dust and blood. And without offering any explanation, she plopped down beside Frank, grabbing a fist-full of buttery popcorn and cramming it into her mouth. If her runny mascara and smudged eyeliner was anything to go by, they all let her be and didn't ask any questions.

After that though…yeah, it kind of got weirder from there. First, the Stolls climbed into the apartment via fire escape, dragging Katie along who at least had the decency to look apologetic and ask to join. Then there was an ever-so-slightly intoxicated Dakota and a flustered Gwen.

After them, Reyna walked in—slightly uncomfortable and trying not to shuffle, and Katie did her best to make room for her (either that or just make some distance between her and Travis, no one could really tell) and pretty much wound up sitting on Annabeth's lap. Next came Chris and an extremely disgruntled looking Clarisse, and judging by her glare, yeah, guy was definitely going to be in the doghouse after this. No doubt.

After that, Percy walked in after driving to the nearest Blockbuster in the middle of a late January blizzard (which had no right in being there), _The Ring_ in hand and after noting there were roughly ten more heads his living room than there should've been, said something along the lines of, "How in Hades do you all know where I live?"

(And by the way, that question remained unanswered.)

Yeah, the night wasn't exactly going according to plan (big plot twist there), so maybe no one should've been completely surprised when it all went to Hades, demigod-style. After all, put a bunch of stubborn, hard-headed half-bloods in the room, all of which had an ego the size of Texas and about as much patience as a Russian, and something was bound to happen.

Naturally, Clarisse started it.

Or maybe it was Connor—possibly Dakota, most likely Percy 'cause, you know, having your home invaded by your friends (who were not, in fact, supposed to know where he lived) was a little stressful and sort of kicked up his impulsiveness a notch—but one thing's for sure, whoever it really was, they successfully managed to start a full-on war in an apartment living room, feng shue and all.

Over the gods-forsaken couch.

It went like this: Gwen and Travis squeezed on, Piper and Nico fell off. And with some charmspeaking and a few choice words that'd make even Arion blush, Piper shoved her way back on. Nico perched on the back of the couch like bird until Thalia (who claims it was an accident) knocked him backwards for putting his feet on her head. Chris (and this one was still a mystery) went from being on the edge of the couch to being squished into the very center, getting friendly with Frank's favorite kidney.

And in summary of everything, Clarisse cussed, Katie huffed. Thalia whipped out her bow, Piper tried to get her to put it away. Nico huddled beneath the couch, Chris _tried_ to fit underneath the couch. Gwen dodged an arrow, Dakota didn't quite dodge the arrow. The Stolls stole the bowl of popcorn, Annabeth promised to disembowel them if they didn't give it back. Reyna's eye continued to twitched, Frank almost lost his eye. Jason suffered a mild concussion, Leo _wished _he could suffer a mild concussion. One too many people got into Hazel's personal bubble and she spent the remainder of the night fanning her face, and Percy almost had a hernia.

In the end, they all gave up and just decided to dogpile, too lazy to move and frankly, completely unconcerned by the way the couch groaned beneath their weight.

Nico curled up between Thalia and Reyna, Annabeth balanced on the back of the couch behind Dakota (who puked all over her shoes), Piper sat on Jason's lap, Percy somehow wound up on Clarisse's lap (they both silently agreed to never ever, ever speak of it again), and overall, everyone was pretty miserable with the seating arrangements (except for Piper and Jason, cheeky little bastards).

But after the initial…issues, it wasn't so bad.

As far as commentary went, it was pleasant. ("Ugh, gods, Nico, do you even shower?" "Oh, I'm sorry, excuse me while I go ask my dad about the Underworld's indoor plumbing." "Want to run that line by me again, corpse breath?" "Hey, Reyna, check it. It's your long-lost twin." "I will cut you, Valdez.")

Love was in the air. ("Eight planets, seven seas, seven continents, hundreds of countries, and your parents just _had_ to meet, huh? They just _had _to make a baby." "Says the brainchild who, by all rights, shouldn't have a bellybutton." "…Perseus Jackson…" "…Sorry, Annabeth.")

The movie was fun. ("That was trippy as hell." "Who picked this?" "What did you guys just make me watch?" "We didn't make you watch anything—you _broke_ into my apartment." "Meh. Your window was unlocked.")

And yet, strangely, it was probably one of the best nights of their lives. (Which probably said something about their sanity, but whatever. If anyone deserved to have mental problems, it was them. Them and their crazy world of deities and teenage drama and warships and evil Mother Earth and kids who didn't belong in the twenty-first century.)

Because for one night, they got to throw all of that out the window, even if it was for just for a few hours. For once, they got to be kids who wouldn't admit to being scared pantless by a horror movie, and their only worries were fitting on one couch made for five people at most. No gods, no quests, no prophecies—mostly 'cause they didn't invite Rachel (couldn't take any chances with that one)—no monsters.

Well, one, but she wound up with four arrows and about six knives lodged into his chest along with a three-degree burn, but other than that everything was normal. Completely and utterly normal.

So maybe they didn't show affection very well. Growing up with a weapon in hand and a destiny on your shoulders tended to interfere with the whole "love" thing. None of them really got the difference between a hate crime and a hug—but hey, at least that meant they were all on the same page.

And for reasons they could never be able to explain to an outsider, their bickering and elbowing was more comfort to each of them than an embrace ever could be. There was just something about shouting that assured everyone else you were still alive and kicking, you know? There was just something about banter that let people know that, yeah, war had changed you, forced you to grow in ways you never expected, but you were still you.

There were a million things left unsaid, all the punching and kicking could've been traded out for secret smiles and gentle brushes, and all the yelling could've been replaced with a Kodak or maybe a chick-flick moment. And yeah, they were so loud, it took Percy almost an hour to convince his neighbors _no, nothing's wrong. No, you don't need to call the cops. Drunk? Oh—Dakota? Nah, he'd always like that_.

The night was a bust. No one paid enough attention to the movie to get what was happening. Everyone got a stomach ache from all the food, which, for all intents and purposes, was really just a bowl of butter and a couple pieces of popcorn floating around somewhere inside. Everyone had shouted, punched, elbowed, jabbed, and in Annabeth's case, judo-flipped somebody else, and yeah, there was going to be some major bruising in the morning, and no one had the energy to go home or get up.

But you know what?

That was fine by them.

* * *

**Meet Me in Elysium**

You wouldn't think that being a tree would seriously affect your thought process.

Yeah, sure it'd feel weird and you'd probably be permanently suspended between being conscious and asleep and moss would wind up growing in places it did _not_ belong, but really—thinking was starting to require more effort than it should. It took her full minute to remember what her last name was and as soon as it came to her, she forgot it almost instantly.

Her thoughts were choppy and awkward, and her head (if she even still had a head) was just a huge jumble of random, trailed-off ideas. And if she had to bet, she'd say she was actually just thinking the same thing over and over again, then forgetting, only to repeat.

Kind of like reading the same sentence over again. Kind of like reading the same sentence over again. Kind of like reading the same sentence over again. Kind of like reading the same sentence over again.

But one thing was for sure, tree or not, Thalia was ticked. And if she had a mouth—oh boy, this tree would definitely be shouting insults about Zeus 'til kingdom come, 'cause seriously, what idiot turns his tree into a daughter?

It took Thalia a full ten minutes to realize what was wrong with that sentence—like her ego wasn't already banged up enough from having a seven year old beat her _and_ Luke in a game of chess. (They played it off like they were just going easy on her, but Thalia was pretty sure Annabeth knew the truth. Freaking brainchild.)

Time was another problem too. It felt…off. It felt like everything was happening so quickly _around_ her, but she was just stuck in slow motion. She felt sluggish and so, so, so tired. You'd think that sleep wouldn't really be an option, for her now—but everything—the dry grass, the grey sky, the feel of someone pressing their forehead against her bark (and that, by the way, sounds so wrong) fades away.

Even by demigod standards, her dreams are shady. Two kids in a casino with thick Italian accents. A girl working at some spa with a no-boys policy. Some guy with green eyes trying to take a test in a straitjacket.

A sarcophagus.

Then, for the first time in what felt like ages, Thalia opened her eyes.

"_It's okay. I'm Percy."_

And just like that, it begins again.

···

First, she was a girl.

Then a sister.

After that, a demigod.

A tree.

And soon…

_Eternal_.

Vegetation to immortality—beat that, Hercules.

···

She couldn't help but feel a little cheated by the whole Hunter deal because, seriously, being immortal felt like just like being a tree. Minus the issues with thinking (but honestly, with all everything going on, Thalia wasn't so sure if that was necessarily a good thing anyhow.)

Time was slow. Slower than it had ever been before.

Decades had passed, all her friends were old enough to be her parents by now, people from her generation had jobs and mortgage and families, and she hadn't changed. Mentally, physically, emotionally—she was still just a fifteen year old punk, suspended one day away from being sixteen.

She used to think it was kind of cool. Hey, who wouldn't want to young forever? Even the gods had a thing for looking like a bunch of teenagers or college students. But right now…well, she couldn't even get into a bar. And frankly, she'd pay anything for that. To just drink herself silly and forget _everything_.

Thalia squeezed her eyes shut.

Don't get her wrong, she'd witnessed _lots_ of death before. Half-bloods, mortals, spirits—you name it. No one understood why this was hitting her so hard. After all, it's not like they were particularly close or anything. He was just her baby brother's annoying best friend, not much to cry over.

Still, she found herself holding back the waterworks.

Because for all the deaths she'd seen, there was something different about sitting in a hospital, waiting for the inevitable. Nothing to do, nothing to say. No adrenaline or monsters to distract her from hurting. Nothing to hunt down and avenge.

Everyone was finding some sort of comfort in the fact that, hey, at least Leo died peacefully. Granted, he didn't exactly live to be old and grey and be that eccentric grandpa that hit on everything and anything that breathed, but he wasn't mauled to death by a monster. That was a good thing.

Thalia gritted her teeth. You'd think that being a demigod, you'd have some sort of resistance to cancer or at least ambrosia would help. She scuffed her shoes against the wall, thinking back to his gaunt, sleeping face. Evidently not.

She sniffled, wiping the nose on the back of her sleeve.

"It's not what you'd thought it would be, is it?"

Thalia started, drawing her bow.

At the end of the alley, Calypso raised her hands in a peace gesture. To anyone else, she would've looked calm and accepting, but Thalia knew better. The goddess's eyes her shinier than normal and the way she held herself wasn't so graceful, and overall…she looked tired.

Thalia swallowed thickly, lowering her weapon. "What isn't?"

Calypso sighed softly, not irritably or impatiently, just sad. She lowered her hands. "Immortality," she said, stepping forward, "it's not as you had expected."

…

Thalia's gaze dropped. "No. No, it's not. I—" Something caught in her throat. "It's not going to be long until…until Jason, Annabeth…until everyone else…"

Calypso gave her long, drawn-out look. "The price of immortality, to lose everything you hold dear and be alone for forever."

Thalia barked out a watery laugh. "Peachy."

Calypso smoothed over her skirts. "Life isn't fair. An eternal one is even less so."

"Okay," Thalia said, a little louder than she meant to, "is there going to be, like, a happy side to this, or…"

"I'm just—" She broke off, and Thalia ignored the tear that trickled down the other girl's face. Her shoulder's sagged, and she shook her head. "No…no, there isn't."

Thalia drew her lips into a thin line and nodded bitterly. "Yeah. Of course, there isn't."

She turned to leave, but Calypso caught her arm. "Wait," she said desperately, her eyes more urgent than ever.

"What?" Thalia deadpanned.

The goddess wet her lips. "When, when you see Leo, tell him…" She searched for the words to say. "…tell him he's an idiot. For me."

The daughter of Zeus studied her for a long time. "In case you forgot, I'm immortal too." She stepped away. "Just ask Piper or Ja—someone."

Thalia didn't even bother to brush away the wetness trickling down her cheek. "I'm sure they'll be seeing him soon."

···

"_Life is only precious because it ends kid. Take it from a god. You mortals don't know how lucky you are."_

···

They were all gone. It was just the Graces now.

Granted, most of them had semi-peaceful deaths. She stifled a bitter laugh. As if that was supposed to help any. She remembered each of them. Remembered sitting in their funerals, gazing at everyone's aging faces, and just _knowing_ who was next. Knowing there wasn't a thing she could do other than watch and wait.

Cancer was what took Leo.

Hazel had a stroke some time ago.

Piper died in her sleep.

So did Frank.

A fight broke out between the Houses of Life, and Annabeth got caught in the crossfire.

Percy…well, quests and wars take their tolls on people. He died young and long ago. (But Hades, Thalia could still remember campers—new and old—fighting tooth and nail for a memorial to be built on Olympus.)

Nico, gods, Thalia didn't even know what happened to him. All she knew was when she visited the Seven's cemetery, Nico's name was on a gravestone.

The only one left was Jason.

Thalia squeezed his hand tighter. Taking in his old wrinkled face and snowy, white hair. The only thing about him that had remained the same over all the years was that scar on his lips. Even his blue eyes were cloudy now.

He had lived the longest out of all them. A whopping seventy-eight. By half-blood standards, a record.

To even get in the hospital, Thalia had to lie and tell the nurse she was his great-granddaughter. Jason didn't laugh when she told him so, he couldn't. But his eyes flickered with mirth for just a moment, and that was enough for Thalia.

She swallowed and gripped his hand in both of hers. Gods, this wasn't right. Not at all. _She _was supposed to be dead already, she was supposed to be the one waiting to meet him in Elysium, she—she wasn't supposed to be the last one standing.

For once, she didn't _want_ to be the last one standing.

She started to speak, struggling over her own voice, "Should've taken better care of yourself." She nudged his shoulder with her knee. "Told you all those Twinkies and cheeseburgers weren't good for you."

The corners of Jason's lips twitched up.

She took that as opportunity to continue. "And—and Annabeth," she said, the name bringing more pain than she ever imagined (gods, how long ago was it since she was just a seven year old tagging along with her and Luke?), "I told her to let Carter and Sadie handle it.

"And Percy…gods, the idiot should've known better to just sit a few quests out or something, you know? Let the newbies have a try for once." She gave Jason a disapproving look. "And you always encouraged him."

Jason's blue eyes seemed to lighten, like he was reliving old memories. Memories of when he was young and ran off on quests with his cousin and fought monsters and played Capture the Flag.

"And Leo…" She blinked a few times. "…well," she continued, softer, "he fought the best he could."

Thalia leaned closer to Jason so he didn't have to strain himself to look at her face. "I love you," she told him, pressing a kiss on his forehead because hey, as far as she was concerned, it didn't matter if he was supposedly sixty-three years older than her now. She was his big sister now and forever.

Even when he stopped breathing, she was.

···

The pain was excruciating. Her body felt like it was completely severed in two, and her breathing came in short, desperate gasps. But still, she walked.

Because if it was going to be now, it was going to be with them.

With her family.

She didn't know how long or how far she wandered, but she knew she was headed the right direction, and that was enough for her. Every step she took, blood gurgled out of her mouth, and she coughs racked her whole body.

Time never felt slower or thicker.

She fell to her knees, stifling a cry of pain. She was broken and torn, and too exhausted to take a step further, but that was all right. That was fine. Because she had Annabeth on her right, Percy to her left, and beside him, Jason. Hundreds of gravestones, all of them dedicated to demigods, lined the cemetery, but it was only eight that caught her attention.

The Seven and Nico di Angelo, all in a line, standing straight and tall as a testament to the power they once held.

She let her eyes close. This was good.

This was where she wouldn't mind spending her last moment. She coughed, blood splattering on the snow, staining it white, and her skin felt numb to the cold, but she didn't care. She shakily lowered herself to the ground, wincing at the icy, sharp sensation against her wounds.

She breathed hard. This was overdue. Her death. In fact, she should have died long, long, _long_ ago. On a hill in Long Island. In an effort to save her friends.

Now, there wasn't anyone to save. No glorious death or remembrance. When their great-great-grandkids came to pay their respects, they wouldn't know the girl lying between Percy and Annabeth Jackson. No one would.

But, Thalia was finding, she didn't mind.

You see, there were eight people waiting for her in Elysium, and Hades if they hadn't been waiting for too long already.

"_Hey—Pinecone Face!"_

"_Thalia!"_

"_Sis!"_

Thalia let her eyes drift shut.

"_Yeah, yeah—I'm coming."_

* * *

_'Through the years,_

_We all will be together_

_If the Fates allow…'_

* * *

_**I know most of you wanted this to be a romance. You wanted to see Percy and Annabeth cuddling on a snowy day, Piper and Jason kissing under the mistletoe after giving each other their presents, or maybe Calypso experiencing Christmas for the first time with Leo—but neither is this it, nor did I intend for this to be romantic.**_

_**Don't get me wrong, I'm all for romance and fluff and cuteness, but at the same time, I've always felt that friendship is the best kind of love and there just isn't a lot of that in this fandom because it's so overshadowed by Percabeth.**_

_**Yes, this still a collection of sappy moments, just like a lot of romantic one-shots—**_

_**but it's about **_**family**_** and **_**bonding**_** more than anything else, and I don't think that sort of love should ever be overlooked or forgotten.**_

_**Once again, merry Christmas.**_

_**-**_**Liana**


End file.
